Great Oak Gazette

Zahreen Danesh’29

It was quiet where I was, only the sounds of rain pattering onto the roof. My quill glided over the paper with ease as I made sure every word was perfect. I was up in my room, working on a card for someone special. Today was St. Dwynwen’s Day, the Welsh version of Valentine’s Day. My parents went out to celebrate, but I didn’t know why because it was dark and rainy. I usually didn’t do anything on this special day; I just went to my studies. However, this time it is special for me. I signed the decorated card and, with excitement, left my room. I smiled, looking at the card as I made my way downstairs. The house was almost empty, save for the occasional butler and maids doing their jobs. Our mansion was pretty spacious; I hardly knew what my parents would do with all these rooms. I stopped to think when I saw a source of light. The house was lit by light bulbs hanging from the walls. I took a moment to admire the recent inventions. It fascinated me how many things were being invented. The light bulb was one, yes, but to turn it on, a switch was needed—two inventions in one. I made my way to the light switch, turning it off and on repeatedly. I watched in awe as the electricity powered this wonderful invention. I thought about the inventions from my home country. The creation of the equal and plus signs in 1557 to newer inventions like deep-space photography in 1896. I hoped one day I could invent something wonderful to make a better future. 

“Uh, sir?” called a voice. I jumped at the sight of Bethan, the head maid, coming into the main room and flipping on the light. “If you wouldn’t mind, the maids need light to see,” she stated, offering me a small smile. 

I stood there like a fool for a second before saying something. “My apologies. I was observing the invention,” I said, pointing at the light, feeling my face flush from her capturing my foolish act. 

She smiled and nodded as I laughed awkwardly. She then looked around before coming back to me. “Is there anything you need? You should be heading upstairs to sleep,” she pointed back up the stairs. 

My thoughts ran back to me immediately as I fiddled with one of the card’s corners, “Oh yes, I would like to see Ffion.” I told her, feeling butterflies in my stomach, “Do you know where she is?” I asked, looking around with a bright smile. 

The maid’s smile faltered as she sighed and motioned me to follow her. I didn’t know why the other maids didn’t like her. Maybe because she was a little rude or spoke her mind, I didn’t care, though; she seemed like she had a lot to say. There were also rumors about her being a changeling. I bit the inside of my cheek. I must admit, I wasn’t fully convinced, but I had a suspicion it was true. That doesn’t mean I didn’t like her; rather, she interested me, and she was pretty in her own way. She led me through the main hall, a long corridor with rooms to the left and windows to the right. I stared out as the light reflected off the rain in the dark void. I frowned. I wondered when my parents would come home. It was very dark. “She’s in here,” Bethan motioned me to enter. I folded up the card so she wouldn’t see it and took a deep breath, and I entered. There she was, scrubbing the hardwood floors in the dining room. She was on her knees, sleeves rolled up, grunting with every brush she put pressure on. Bethan sighed, annoyed when she didn’t look up, “Ffion—” 

“One second,” she responded, all her focus on the floor. Bethan groaned and was going to call for her again, but I held my hand up, and she turned to silence. Ffion’s face scrunched up as she scrubbed the floor with quick, pressured strokes, trying to get rid of a stain. When she finished, she put her brush into the pail, brushing her hands, satisfied. She stood up, finally looking in our direction, “Yes, ma’am?” She looked over to me and curtsied, “Sir Llewelyn.” I smiled at her little gesture. Even though every girl does it to me, she looked cute when she did it. 

Bethan furrowed her eyebrows at her, “Come here.” She demanded, and Ffion followed, carrying the pail. When she faced her, Bethan scowled, “How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t keep the Merricks waiting!” 

When Ffion went to respond, I waved her off, “It’s okay, Bethan. Would you please leave us alone?”

 Bethan’s eyes widened when I told her to leave. Ffion just looked between us with her big eyes, her mouth in a straight line. Bethan cleared her throat and left in a hurry,  disappearing down the hall. I turned to face Ffion; her forest green eyes looked pretty on her olive skin. “Uh—” I tried to say, but my tongue was tied, “You look… pretty today,” I admitted, looking away to hide my blushing face. 

She arched her brow and looked down at her uniform. “I’m… covered in dirt and dust,” she said, confused, trying her best to dust off her apron. 

She was right, dirt and dust were covering her white apron. Grime smudged across her face as she wiped it with her hands, though she only made it dirtier. 

I thought of something quick, “Well,” I pulled out my handkerchief for her. She first observed it before taking it from me to wipe her face, “You still look pretty.”

Ffion handed me back the small piece of fabric as I stuffed it back into my pocket. She smiled at me, “Thank you, sir,” she bowed her head, “Don’t hear that a lot,” she chuckled, and shrugged. I weakly smiled. I knew she had a tendency to hide her true feelings. We walked down the hall a little bit before I brought up my subject, “Ffion?” 

She looked back at me, “Hm?” she clocked her head to the side. 

I felt my face heat up as butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I could barely muster up my words, “D-do you know what today is?” I asked, ready to pull out my card.

Her face lost emotion, and she groaned, “Yes, yes, I know, that wonderful holiday.” She sarcastically sighed, “It’s not even special anymore.” 

I felt a pit grow in my stomach, and a feeling of despair rushed over me. I quickly pushed the card back into my pocket. I couldn’t show her now after what she said. I placed my hands behind my back as I tried thinking about what to say, “Why do you not find it special?” I asked, wanting to know the full story. 

She sighed again, “I just… I feel like it’s losing its purpose as British influence is affecting our traditional values like…” she stopped there to take my hand and drag me downstairs. Her skin was rough with callused fingers. I didn’t care; I was holding her hand. I smiled stupidly as she led me downstairs and to the main room with the fireplace. “See!” she pointed to the top of the mantle, but I was too busy staring at her. She looked over to me to see me smiling, “What are you doing?!” 

My smile dropped as my eyes widened, a quick heat rushing to my face, “Uh—” “Look!” She yelled, grabbing my cheeks and turning my head to look at the mantle. I didn’t pay attention at first since I realized she was touching my face, but after looking above the mantle, I finally noticed. She was talking about the love spoon hanging above the fireplace. I arched a brow, looking around to see if I missed something to see the full picture. There was nothing. 

I turned to face her, “I don’t see anything wrong with it.” I took her hands off my face. She looked a little offended when I did, “My father made it for my mother, and she hung it up there—” 

“YOU SEE?!” She yelled, getting up in my face. 

“Uh…” I found myself saying as she was really close. I backed away, feeling like a toaster. I didn’t know why she was getting so close, “No?” I squeaked. I still didn’t get what she was talking about, but I had a feeling I was going to get beaten up because of it. 

She huffed, puffing up her cheeks. “Did your mom even eat from it?” she asked, pointing at the love spoon. 

“Does your mom ever eat from it?” She asked, pointing at the love spoon. I gave her a weird look. What was she talking about? “Well, no, obviously, they are used for decor now.” I scoffed, “Eating from the spoon was just an old tradition; things are changing now.” 

She groaned and rubbed her temples, like she was trying to teach me something, “That’s the point! The old tradition is dying. We’re losing our heritage!” She exclaimed.

I sighed as if she wasn’t understanding me, “Well, it’s moving forward from the Victorian times; we’re evolving and making way for new modern ideas.” I fought back, smiling at the thought of the newest things coming into the picture. 

She frowned, her lower lip hanging a little, “Well, yes, but….” She looked back at the love spoon. “Did your mother even admire it?” 

I opened my mouth to say yes, then stopped; she actually didn’t. The only thing I remember is her getting it and immediately hanging it there as something new. But…that isn’t the point of it. “N-no…” I said quietly, hanging my head in sudden remorse. My father worked so hard hand-crafting that spoon for my mother just to… hang it? 

She frowned as well, “Don’t you think some traditions should be kept? They shouldn’t just fade away,” she smiled weakly, “We should remember our historical past while still making a better future, right?” I watched her turn to look at me from the corner of my eye. “Sir?” she asked, puzzled. She bent down to try to see my face. 

I stood up when she tried, but I still didn’t look at her face. I just nodded, glancing back at the spoon, “That means my mother doesn’t love my father.” Those words hurt more than what I said in my head. I should’ve seen the signs better. Were there any? I couldn’t think clearly, but I hoped not. 

“Sir,” she said softly, taking my hand, “I doubt that.” I gasped and looked at her, and she gave me a reassuring smile, “Your parents have been out all day, yes?” I slowly nodded.

“Then I wouldn’t be the one to worry. She also hung the spoon to keep it safe,” she told me. 

I scoffed, “You just ridiculed old traditions. No need to make me feel better.” I didn’t think she meant it. What was the point anyway? 

She clocked her head from side to side, “That’s true…I guess everyone has their own opinions, and I know how much you’re interested in newer technologies and cultural changes.” I smiled, hearing that. I would always tell her about the newest things coming out, and she would listen and give her opinion. I’m glad she remembers those conversations. She laughed weakly, “You’re… probably the only one who talks to me, and I appreciate that you’re my friend.” Friend, she said. The pit came back as I felt sadness cloud over me. No, it makes sense. Why would she like anyone like that? She has her own life and dreams she wants to accomplish; I shouldn’t get in the way. She wants to find her parents. She strongly believes that she has a purpose and wants to find where she came from and her importance… and I respect that. “Well, she probably wanted to hang it there proud of the gift that was given to her.” She continued, pointing around the main room, “Look how much decor she has anyway.” 

I looked around, and it was true. Most decorations were oil pastel paintings hanging from the walls and handcrafted wooden furniture. I smiled, thinking about it more. She was right. My mom often sits on one of the velvet chairs and looks at the surroundings, along with the love spoon. I looked back at her, noticing the bits of dirt she missed when wiping her face, “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you.” 

She smiled back and nodded. “Sorry if I brought you down,” she told me, walking over to her bucket. 

“Don’t worry about it, I love hearing your ideas.” I looked back at the fireplace, stepping close to feel the warmth against my face.

“Oh!” she yelled. “What was the thing you wanted to bring up to me when you asked me about St. Dwynwen’s Day?” she asked, cleaning the brush she scrubbed with. I gasped, immediately taking out my card. I looked at the lace and pressed flowers that adorned the card, with the handwritten confession inside. I closed the card before glancing at the fire and throwing it in there, watching my failed love go up in flames. However, I just smiled. I felt rather happy knowing I didn’t get rejected face-to-face. Besides, I don’t think a romance would work well between the son of a wealthy landlord and a scullery maid, the lowest ranking in the hierarchy of servants. “Nothing,” I said proudly, smiling at her. 

She smiled back as she finished cleaning her brush. Suddenly, my mother burst through the door, almost slipping on the floor in the process. Fortunately, my father caught her. “Good heavens,” she gasped, looking at Ffion. “Go do your cleaning elsewhere!” she dismissed with a fit of rage. Ffion stood up straight and bowed, walking away hurriedly with her things. She’s an odd one, isn’t she?” she asked my father with a huff, who was still holding her. 

I wanted to protest, but my father stepped in. “She might be, but Llewelyn seems fond of her,” he reasoned as my mother rolled her eyes. 

She scoffed, “Oh, what are we going to do with that boy?” I knew she was joking, but I couldn’t help but feel a little offended. She noticed me as I was lost in thought. “Ah, fy mab,” she called, disturbing my thoughts. She was happy to see me at first till her smile fell, “What are you doing down here?” 

I stuttered to find the words, “I… uh….” I spun around and pointed to the first thing I laid my eyes on: the love spoon. “I was looking at the love spoon father made you.” They both looked at the spoon. My father’s smile grew as my mother nodded towards it. “It was the best present I could ever get,” she mused, though I sensed some hesitation in her words. She waved it off, “Anyways, we found a partner for you!” I choked on the air. A partner?! “What?” I asked, hoping for an answer. 

My father stepped in to speak. “Llewelyn, I know this might be… unexpected… but this will be for the best. We can assure you that you’ll be loved by your partner. Understand?” He handed me a picture of the girl. She had a delicate face with light long hair, standing shyly in the picture. I felt my eyebrows raise. She looked to be a kind soul. I slowly nodded as he ruffled my hair. It was my role to be the next in line to inherit the coal company and to keep my wealth through marriage. 

“You will meet her a year from now when you’re fourteen and the courtship will start at sixteen,” my mother announced. “This will be a great partnership,” she exclaimed as she and my father walked away, leaving me alone with the picture. My future wife. I looked back up at the love spoon. I couldn’t help but think of Ffion, the girl I loved. My feelings of rejection hurt me but it did not matter. There was no chance with Ffion. I have a chance with her, however. Hopefully I could find love in the world soon, just like my parents. I stared at the love spoon, the sign of affection. It was a tradition that would never die.